Monthly Archives: September 2010

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Gmail’s Language Lesson

Addicts have addictive personalities –we are more likely to develop an additional obsession to the one we have. While I could make a wager on having a high-heel fixation –I believe my true second addiction is Gmail.

If I roughly estimated how many times I check my Gmail on a daily basis –it’d probably be close to 75 or more. It’s always up at work, although I set my Gchat status to “Busy” (with the cute little color-coded buttons!). I often will chat with someone via Gchat, read other people’s “Buzz” updates, and every time I see I have a new email –I seriously get excited. I always anticipate getting an important, urgent, or fascinating email that delivers incredible news. I’m not exactly sure what email I think I’ll be getting –but my eagerness never dwindles.

I actually check Gmail before I even check Facebook and I have five accounts –my personal, one for ChickSpeak, one for the ChickSpeak assistant, one for my day job, and one for this blog. I don’t check each of them every single day –but at least once a week. I love all of the features and I think you’d be crazy (or born before 1980) to use any other platform other then Gmail (A little promotional maybe, but if Google sponsors me, I’d be game).

So you can imagine my despair when I woke up Tuesday morning to discover my personal Gmail account had been spammed. Someone or something (not exactly who “they” represents who hacks into accounts) sent a spam link to over 500 people from my name. This doesn’t only include my address book –but basically anyone I’ve ever sent any email to: possible employers, those I worked with at Cosmopolitan or Seventeen and my current job, family, friends, Craigslist postings, and the list goes on and on.

After waking up at the very last alarm at 7:30 with only an hour to spare before having to catch the train –I quickly needed to send out an email to all of those addresses before they woke up to click on the link. As I composed the email warning people not to open the last email from me because it was spam and could potentially cause damage to their computer –I started to wonder about what “spam” exactly is.

Yes, it’s some sort of meat (maybe) concoction that crazy people find tasty, but as defined by Wikipedia (my generation’s Encyclopedia), it’s the “use of electronic systems to send unsolicited bulk messages indiscriminately.”

Think about it: spam infiltrates our computers or our email accounts –both of which are near-and-dear to our hearts, holding all sorts of personal information and proposes the risk of damaging everything we determine has value.

But what about our minds?

I’d say that’s a pretty important part of our bodies. Even though it’s valuable, holds all of our personal information –we send spam through it each and every day. And we allow it to travel throughout our systems –causing possible destruction to our hearts, minds, and overall well-being.

I realized how much my thoughts control my mood, my attitude, my walk, my talk, my concentration, my organization, my eating habits, my stamina, my motivation…my everything.

And every single day –I send out consistent spam through my thoughts. I started paying attention to some of the language I use as a thought-spammer: “It’s just not going to happen for you. Others are meant for love, you’re not.” “You’re not as pretty as she is. Or as skinny. Your skin isn’t as clear either.” “You’re working for a business magazine –is that what you moved to New York for?” “A guy like that wouldn’t like you.” “You need to run more.” “You’re going to be single forever. You’re meant to walk home from my gym alone every single night.”

Wow.

My Gmail gets spammed once in the four years I’ve had the account and I sincerely freak out. I spam myself daily –and I never took note of my negativity. No wonder I obsess or I feel awful or down on myself. No wonder I think poorly of how I look, how I handle things, or how I act. No wonder I feel the need to be validated by a man’s love to make me feel important, worthy, or beautiful.

So what if (this is a good “what if”, no worries) I decided to start notifying myself of the spam going on in my head? What if, when a bad thought goes through my head –instead of listening to it, opening it, and allowing it to filter through my mind –I mentally “emailed” myself to warn me of buying into the spam?  What if I sent out a message similar to the one I sent to all of my contacts that said “Warning: having this thought over and over again will cause you to be sad, angry, depressed, and lonely. It will infect your entire system and outlook –so under no circumstances, do not listen to it. By the way, we haven’t caught up recently, Linds, what’s good and new with you?”

What if I fought my “thought spam” as diligently as I fought my email spam?

Self-defeating, negative, and obsessive single-hating spam has no place in my mind, in my Gmail, or in my life. No archiving, no labeling, no Gchatting with it, or replying to its antics. No storing it for later use when I have a bad day that yields to peanut butter and tears. No filling up the account to its maximum capacity with repetitive notions that serve absolutely no purpose and clog up other outgoing thoughts.

The only way to handle thought spam is by just deleting. And then emptying the trash to make room for better things to anticipate and get ridiculously excited for.

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And Fall is Here…

As I closed the door to my apartment and headed towards the park –a new feeling came over me. The air was crisp and cool, the steps up to my brownstone were covered in leaves, and I pulled my jacket tighter to my body. There was a sense of calmness and yet the feel of the city was warm and inviting.

I then realized that it’s here: the most beautiful time of the year. Fall.

There has always been something about fall that makes me melt. I love everything the season has to offer: pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks, cute boots and lightweight jackets, the smell of a campfire (well, maybe not this year!), and the ever-changing colors of the trees.

And of course, it’s the season of possibility.

Maybe because my birthday is right around the transition from summer to fall, or because I’m a fashionista like the next New Yorker, but to me –the new year begins with onset of Autumn. With all of the old dying away, all the sweat and lust of the summer fading, and the beauty of change unveiling in nature –how can you not feel like possibility is before you?

In year’s past, Fall also meant the start of school. I absolutely loved going to school, and I always made goals for myself. From making “all A’s” and “getting on honor’s list” to “getting better at doubles in tennis” and “writing more frequently” –I wanted and needed to always push myself.

When I reached college, Fall was always about what cute guy would be in my classes or if I would finally have a boyfriend while at Appalachian. The start of the school year meant a whole new selection of guys to choose from, who I was sure I had never met. And of course, after getting a rockin’ body every summer, I was ready to show off all of my goods and see what looks I got in exchange (yes, I’m admitting that).

But this year, Fall symbolizes something else.

Yes, it’s still about change and beauty and love. But it’s about changing my mindset to focus more on my inner (and outer!) beauty with a more positive attitude towards love. It’s about learning to love myself and to fall in love with who I am and what I have to offer this world.

I won’t lie and say the colder weather doesn’t make me crave a chest to lay my head on, feet to tuck my toes under, and someone to walk hand-in-hand with through the park while drinking coffee. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t bring up ghosts of boyfriends-past and the memories I had with them during this season. I won’t lie and say that seeing pumpkins for sale doesn’t make me want to buy one and have a “flirty carving evening” with an attractive guy.

Of course, I feel all of those things.

But for the first Fall –in a very long time –I’m enjoying going down the block for a cup of Joe on my own, running through the park with only my breath to keep me company, and curling up, alone, with a cup of tea –and all of my dreams of tomorrow tucked away lightly and lovingly…in the back of my mind.

This time, I’m going to fall in love with myself.

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Anger, Peanut Butter & The Single Girl

I’m very bad at being angry. In fact –usually when I start to get mad, I get upset with myself that I’m mad, and then I think I’m being too hard on myself, so I get sad that I’m being so self-defeating, and in return I start to cry, and then get angry because tears are splashing down my cheeks.

Exhausting, right?

Part of recovery, I’ve discovered is getting very mad. It’s not a part I enjoy and it’s not something I like to admit, but if I’m being honest with everyone and trying to rid myself of all of my negativity –I’ve got to lay it out there.

As mentioned a few days ago, I’ve started a new friendship with T (read about him here). It’s been encouraging for the process to have a non-gay (hey, it’s a rarity in the city), male friend who will be there for me to talk to. He’s easy to get along with, easy to look at, and even easier to be around. We haven’t known each other very long, but we’re comfortable and open –and because we both know a relationship is off the table, there is absolutely no pressure.

He’s working up his grand gesture to his ex-girlfriend and he has been running his ideas by me. It’s been entertaining and inspiring to help him with a romantic presentation that will certainly (fingers crossed for him) win her back.

I really don’t mind helping him and I really do want to be his friend. But, at the end of the day, I started asking myself: “Why hasn’t anyone done this for me?”

Partly because I’m trying to rid of these negative questions and attitudes towards love and partly because it frankly just frustrates me –I got mad. I got upset. I left the office in a huff, wondering what was wrong with me.

I thought:

“I’m a 22-year-old, 5’4” (but usually 5’7” because of my high heel obsession), in shape (and with a shape) woman. I’m independent, self-supporting, and ambitious, yet I like to be needed and to need someone. I landed a job and an apartment within the first three weeks of moving to NYC and I can hold an intelligent conversation. I’m not exactly funny, but I think I’m rather charming. I’m not a model, but I think I was given beauty. I volunteer because I thoroughly enjoy it, not because I have to, and I would bake cookies every single day if I could afford it or had the time. I tend to be a pretty good listener, I can get along with almost any type of personality, and while I’m a planner, I also enjoy adventures. Did I mention I’m from the South, which makes me super sweet, friendly, and courteous, too?

Why hasn’t someone noticed? Why am I not good enough for someone? What the hell is wrong with me? Where is my grand gesture?!”

After a surprisingly easy three mile run, I still wasn’t over my anger. In fact, while attempting to talk to my parents, I ended up getting so frustrated that I had to end the phone call after it barely got started. I sincerely couldn’t take my mother saying “It’s all about timing, dear.”

Of course it’s about timing. Of course I have to patient. Of course I have to let it all play its course in perfect rhyme and rhythm, and have faith that all is unfolding as it should. I’m trying very hard, I really am –I’m giving this recovery every bit of energy I have.

But still, last night, I ended up in sweatpants, my favorite sweater with three crumpled napkins by my computer, and dipping a large spoon into my jar of peanut butter.

Am I still making progress?

Yes. I allowed myself to get upset. I allowed myself to cry (for the first time since this blog started). I allowed myself to get very mad and have all of those negative thoughts. I allowed them to come and to leave, and after I was finished with my temper tantrum, I sought advice from my two sponsors, M and J, who gave me some words of encouragement and kindness. I then sat down to write this blog, with a container of pudding (I’m being honest, here), and admitted my level of anxiety.

Single can suck. Single can be incredibly difficult. Single can making you get down on yourself and ask a million questions you will never find answers to –even by reading this blog, searching online, or reading self-help books. Single is part of the journey and it can be a major pain in the ass sometimes.

But I can’t (and neither can you) beat yourself up for hating it sometimes. No matter what step I’m at in the program, how confident I am, or how much self-love I build up –I’m always going to have hard days. I’m always going to have a moment of jealousy, a time of insecurity, and nights where all I want to do is be held.

As one of my sponsors, J, said: “This is all normal.”

The only thing that’ll change is my reaction to being upset and the time it takes to let go of it. Last night, it took from about 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. Three hours isn’t too awful, but eventually, I’ll be about to calm myself down faster and more lovingly.

I also, hopefully, will learn not to keep peanut butter at arm’s reach. That probably wasn’t such a great idea.

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Bumps in the Process

For some reason, my face decided this week (and especially this weekend) was the ideal time to break out. I’ve always had a difficult time with acne and because I’m probably a tad bit too vain, I’ve also always worn makeup.

The act of putting on makeup itself is tiresome. If I was one of those lucky gals who just woke up and went, I would get a whole lot more sleep during the work week. The process is long and often, I feel like I’m a painter –but not one of the talented ones. It’s basically paint-by-the-imperfections until everything is covered up and I feel pretty enough to face the world.

Not only is acne bad for the self-confidence, but it can be extremely painful. Especially when you get the big suckers like I did this weekend. They pop up in the most annoying of places (on your cheeks, so when you smile, they get even bigger), and if you brush up against them or go to wipe your face, it just flat out hurts.

Because I’ve been trying to be more in-tune with myself and watch the language I use to communicate with myself every day, I’ve also been more acutely aware of the way I walk, the way I talk, the way I look, and the way I think I’m perceived by others. You’d think the journey to self-love would make me throw out my self-hating-habits and instantly let go, but if anything, it’s brought them to the surface (literally with these zits) and make me face what makes me the most insecure.

My friend, J (remember him, who got all those flowers?) asked me to go shopping with him on Saturday, and I reluctantly agreed. Not because I didn’t want to see J or because he’s not a great shoe-finding buddy, but because I felt so gross from having a massive break out. I ended up piling on more makeup than I usually do and I tried my best not to wear red so it wouldn’t bring attention to the redness on my face.

After I was sure he had noticed the huge cluster of zits on my cheek, I finally said, “I just love how I’ve broken out this weekend.” He looked up at me puzzled, and said, “What do you mean?” Shocked, I replied, “Don’t you see these awful zits on my face?” Simply, he said, “Nah. Hadn’t noticed. You look pretty.”

Given, J, always will compliment me –but it really opened my eyes to how harsh I can be on myself. Everyone, even those damn Victoria’s Secret models, get some problematic skin issues sometimes. By nature, human beings are far from perfect. We’re meant to make mistakes, have flaws, and work on our confidence. Having insecurities doesn’t make us weak, it just makes us normal.

Of course, because of the recovery, I thought about how hard I’ve been on myself just in the past week.

Anytime a negative thought or worry came into my mind, I instantly yelled internally “Lindsay! You’re doing the 12 Steps, remember? Stop this!” Even though I came up with a kind and soothing mantra, my instant reaction was far from forgiving.

Instead of working on why I was having that thought or fear, I automatically tried to “cover it up” by pushing it out of my mind and not giving myself time to figure out why I was being negative in the first place. If you will, I was applying makeup before I gave the zit time to heal. I was putting on mascara while my eye was still red, lipstick on my lips while they were still chapped, and blush on my cheeks when they were already flushed.

This process, this recovery, isn’t going to be a walk in the park. And I have to remember to be my own best friend –encouraging, patient, and gentle. If a thought comes to my mind, instead of letting myself get all worked up and mad for not “recovering quick enough” –I need to let the thought cycle through, tell myself its okay to have the thought, and then remind myself to “Have faith. All is unfolding as it should.”

Before I can truly believe my bad attitude can be turned around, I have to let the thoughts and emotions come as they naturally do, so I can understand why I’m having such a hard time. I can’t skip forward to peace and clarity, if I don’t have a little bit of bumps and pain.

I think it’s time to tell my Mars in Aries to just calm down a little bit. All in due time, all in due time.

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The City of Love

Manhattan is coined as a pretty dirty place -full of grime and crime, thugs and lugs –and everything in between. The streets are aligned with trash, and the city changes with the wind –one block can be completely high-rise and luxurious, while the next will make you hold your bag a little closer.

I’ve been asked (mainly by my Southern relatives) why “on God’s green Earth would you ever move to New York City?” In fact, why did I decide to move away from North Carolina in the first place –away from the back winding roads, the calm nights with fireflies, and miles away from my alma mater, making it impossible for me to come to homecoming?

Why didn’t I, like all of the other girls in my family, settle down, find a good country boy, and get married? Why did I decide to go to this huge, scary, and dangerous place…alone?

To them, I reply, “I love New York.” They will smile, tell me they are praying for me, and then whisper amongst themselves about my absurdity.

Eh –maybe I’m a little crazy. I think to willingly choose to move to NYC, you’d have to be a tad out of your mind. But, the city draws in the crazies, the out-of-the-boxers, the strange-and-the-beautiful, the very-talented and the overly ambitious.

But if you look closely, slow down, pay attention, and examine everything going on around you –you’ll find the city is full of love. It’s not just that I adore the city –it’s that the city itself provokes kindness.

 

Written on the street outside my office :)

 

When you cross the street –you’re never alone. There’s always someone on one side of you, if not on both. When you sit down on a subway car, leave it, or enter it –there are always people near you. When you go grocery shopping, buy new shoes, pay for deodorant, or even just wipe your nose -you’re always surrounded by someone else. Even riding home in the taxi after a night of drinking –the cab driver sits right in front of you.

And while it’s not typical to speak to strangers (unless you’re from NC, like me) –you will catch yourself leaning up against the person on the subway, or find them lingering on you a while longer after the initial jolt of a stop. Or when you cross the street, sometimes, you’ll notice someone step with you –a little cautious of the cars that may forget to stop. Or when you’re sitting alone reading a book, it’s not uncommon to notice someone looking at you, caught in their own world of thoughts –only using you as a focus point.

You’ll find people helping each other by carrying heavy bags up stairs or opening doors or waiting for you to pass by. You’ll find an old woman bring her husband lunch to his office on the same block they’ve lived and worked for 50 years. You’ll find children kissing their parents and running through the streets like it’s their playground. You’ll find a couple you just know are on their first date –completely awkward, but somewhat enthralled, drinking a few beers, and wondering what’s next.

Sometimes you’ll pass friends comforting  each other on the side of the street, as one cries, and one remains strong –looking around to make sure no one messes with them. You’ll find yourself sharing glances with someone else who is responding the same way you are to a strange occurrence, a sudden sound, or a funny conversation.

The city makes you interact with other people –regardless if you want to or not. It forces you to come out of your shell and see what’s going on around you. It shows you that even in the most ordinary and most random of places –there is friendlessness and love all around.

I’ve been worrying that this process would somehow make me stop believing in love. It would make me cool and confident, but not warm and loving. However –as I wondered the streets today, both with a friend, and then alone –I realized that New York would never let that happen.

Gaining faith in myself and relaxing about being single doesn’t mean that my faith in love goes away. It doesn’t mean I have to stop enjoying seeing examples of love in everyday life or be inspired by seeing real love exist. Being okay single doesn’t mean I have to stop dreaming.

It simply means that the constant quest for love, the constant search, and longing for a relationship needs to fall later in my list of priorities. It means that I just let go of pushing and pulling for happily ever after, and allow something bigger than me take care of things for me. For now, watching love in the city fills my heart up with so much hope and peace –I can’t even put it into words.

I always knew I loved you New York, but I didn’t know you loved me this much, too.